My Father’s Wife Chapter 09

My Father’s Wife Chapter 09

Julian’s POV

Dad left for Tokyo the next morning.

Clara stood by the front door and handed him his passport case. He kissed her cheek, said something about calling from the car, and walked out with his suitcase rolling behind him.

I was in the kitchen, drinking coffee before the train.

Clara shut the door after him and went upstairs.

For the next few days, the house stayed mostly the same.

Clara was around, but barely.

Sometimes I heard her in the hallway. Sometimes I saw a coffee mug in the sink or one of her books left on the sunroom chair. Once, I passed her on the stairs, and she moved aside before I had to.

She acted like the thing in the living room had never happened.

Fine by me.

By the second week, I stopped keeping track.

I was out most nights after work, and when I came home, the house was dark. If her bedroom door was shut, I didn’t check whether she was behind it.

On the final Friday of July, my internship ended.

I got home earlier than usual, just after five, with my tie loose and my briefcase cutting into my shoulder.

Dad was back from Tokyo.

His study door was open, and his voice carried into the hall.

“No transfers until legal reviews the agreement,” he said. “Flag the joint account and send me the full asset statement by Monday.”

I stopped outside the study.

Dad ended the call and looked up from a stack of papers.

“You’re home early.”

“Internship’s over.”

He nodded once and went back to the folder in front of him.

The house felt off, but I couldn’t place why at first.

Then I saw the black card on his desk.

Clara’s black card.

I looked at it for a second longer than I meant to.

“What’s with the account?”

Dad’s mouth tightened.

“Clara decided to leave.”

I stared at him.

“She left?”

“Sometimes this week.” He flipped a page. “Two suitcases, her personal documents, and apparently enough nerve to have an attorney send over a separation proposal before speaking to me herself.”

I leaned against the doorframe.

“She left the card?”

Dad gave me a flat look.

“That is not the issue.”

It was, a little.

Not the main issue. Not even a serious issue.

Still, it was funny.

Clara had spent three years in that house. She wore the clothes. She went to the dinners. She let people call her Mrs. Vance in that soft, impressed voice rich people used around other rich people.

Then she put the card on a desk and walked out like she was returning a hotel key.

Dad picked up his glass and took a slow drink.

“She says she felt suffocated.”

I almost laughed.

Of all the words she could have chosen, she picked the one that made her sound innocent.

“Maybe she did,” I said.

Dad looked at me.

I should have let it go.

Instead, I looked at the folder on his desk.

“Or maybe she got bored.”

His eyes cooled.

“Clara is being emotional. Her attorney will explain the numbers to her.”

That sounded more like him.

Marriage. Divorce. Baby. Money.

Put a number on it and Dad could sleep.

I pushed away from the doorframe.

“Good luck with that.”

He didn’t answer.

I went upstairs to change.

The master bedroom door was open.

I glanced in as I passed, then stopped.

Her side of the room looked almost normal from the doorway. Bed made. Curtains drawn. Nothing knocked over, nothing dramatic.

The closet told the rest.

A few empty hangers. A gap where her shoes used to be. The cheap canvas tote she always carried to the city was gone.

She had taken the things that looked like hers and left the rest for Dad to count.

I stood there for maybe ten seconds.

Then I laughed under my breath.

Of course she left neatly.

Even walking out, Clara had to make it look like she hadn’t broken a sweat.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Maddie: [We’re getting drinks in the Village. You coming?]

I looked at the message, then back at the closet.

For some reason, I thought of Clara on the stairs that night, passport case in her hand, not stopping when I spoke.

I typed back.

Julian: [Yeah.]

Then I tossed the phone on my bed and changed shirts.